"AFTER TEARS AND WEEPING, HE POURETH IN JOYFULNESS."

"Do not spurn me in my prayer, For this wand'ring ever longer, evermore, Hath overworn me, And I know not on what sh.o.r.e I may rest from my despair."

BROWNING.

From his pale lips dropped one word:

"Georgia!"

"Dearest Richmond," she said, looking up in his face with her radiant eyes.

"Oh, Georgia, my wronged wife, can you ever forgive me?" he cried, pa.s.sionately.

"I have nothing to forgive, my husband," she said, sweetly. "It is I who should be forgiven."

"Oh, Georgia, where have you been? Do I really see you, or do I dream?

So often have I dreamed you were restored, and woke to find it a dream.

Is this a delusion like the rest?"

"Shake hands, and see."

She held out hers with a smile, and he took it, and gazed into her face with a doubtful, troubled look.

"Yes, it is Georgia; it must be she; the same, yet so different. You never looked like this in the days gone past, Georgia."

"I have been new-born since," she said, with a serene smile. "You shall learn all soon, Richmond. Do you know I have come to stay now?"

"See here, Mr. Wildair," said Curtis, giving him a poke "don't you keep looking so; everybody's staring and whispering, and our friend here, Whiskerando," pointing to the starred foreigner, "looks as if he thought he had got into a lunatic asylum by mistake. You take Georgia--I mean Mrs. Wildair--off into that conservatory, for instance, where you can stare at her to your heart's content, and learn all the particulars since she cut her lucky--I mean since she ran off and left you in the lurch. Go; I know it will take you an hour, at least, to settle matters, and beg each other's pardon, and smoke the pipe of peace, and so on; and, meantime, as it is necessary the company should know who it is, I'll whisper it as a great secret into the ear of the first lady I meet, and get her to promise not to tell. There! vanish!"

Pa.s.sing his hand across his eyes, as if to dispel a mist, Richmond offered her his arm and led her toward the conservatory, followed by the wondering eyes of the guests.

But Mr. Curtis had no need to tell. Miss Harper was there, and recognized her with a suppressed shriek; and in an instant after, like wild-fire, it ran through the room that this dark, beautiful stranger was the mysterious wife of Mr. Wildair.

Dancing was no longer thought of. Everybody flocked around Mr. Curtis, and such an avalanche of questions as was showered upon him human ears never listened to before. Had he possessed a thousand tongues he could hardly have answered one-half. But he did not try to answer them. Mr.

d.i.c.k Curtis was a sensible young man, and never attempted impossibilities; so he only folded his arms and looked around him complacently, listening with the profoundest attention to all, but answering never a word; until, at last, when quite tired and breathless, there was a pause, he lifted up his voice and spoke:

"Ladies and gentlemen: On the present interesting and facetious occasion allow me to say--(ahem!)--to say----"

[Here a voice in the crowd, that of Mr. Henry Gleason, if you remember that young gentleman, reader, interrupted with, "You _have_ said it!

Push along, old boy!"]

"To say," pursued Mr. Curtis, casting a withering glance at the speaker, "as that very polite youth, whoever he may be, has falsely informed you I have already said, that Mr. Wildair, his excellency," said Mr. Curtis, with a dignified wave of his hand, "has commissioned me to say--I beg your pardon, sir; you're standing on that lady's dress--to say that the lady you beheld this evening is his wife, who has been indulging in a little trip to Europe with his--(ahem!)--full approbation, while he was seeing after the great, glorious, and immortal Union in Washington, and scattering political oats--to use a figure of speech--before that tremendous bird, the American eagle; and the lady arriving quite promiscuously, if I may be allowed so strong an expression, he was slightly surprised to see her--(ahem!)--as you all perceived, and has just gone to have a little friendly chat with her over family matters and kitchen cabinet affairs generally. And so, ladies and gentlemen,"

concluded Mr. Curtis, laying his kid glove on his heart and bowing gracefully, "I hope his temporary absence will not plunge you into _too_ deep affliction, or cause you to feel too dreadfully cut up, but that you will set seriously to work and enjoy yourselves, while I represent his excellency, and during his absence receive your homage. And to conclude, in the words of Demosthenes, the great Latin poet, who beautifully observes, '_E Pluribus Unum_,' a remark which I hope none of you will consider personal, for I solemnly a.s.sure you it was not meant to be, as I haven't the remotest idea of what it means. If any further particulars are needed," said Mr. Curtis, drawing himself up, and casting another glance of withering scorn upon Mr. Henry Gleason, "I must refer you to the young gentleman who was good enough to interrupt me, and who stands there now, a mark for the finger of scorn to poke fun at. Ladies and gentleman, I have spoken! Long may it wave."

And with this last "neat and appropriate" quotation, Mr. Curtis bowed and blushingly retired, leaving his audience in convulsions of laughter, for his unspeakably droll look and solemn tone no pen can describe. It had the good effect, however, of diverting their attention from Mr.

Wildair and his wife for the present; and Mr. Curtis the center of a laughing group, while his own face maintained its expression of most doleful gravity, became for the time being the lion of the hour. With edifying meekness did Mr. Curtis stand, "his blushing honors thick upon him," until getting rather tired of it, he made a signal to the band to strike up, and selecting Miss Arlingford for his partner, a quadrille was formed and dancing commenced with real earnestness, and the business of the evening might be said to have begun.

But when an hour pa.s.sed and the lady whose _entree_ had created such a sensation did not appear, impatient glances began to be cast toward the conservatory, and petulant whispers to circulate, and pouting lips wondered why they did not come. In vain Mr. Curtis was "funny;" his popularity was waning as fast as it had risen, and it was all a waste of ammunition. His jokes were unattended to, his puns were unlaughed at, his most dolorous looks had no effect on the risibles of any, except those who had a _very_ keen sense of the ludicrous. At last, in disgust at the fickleness of public favor, he got dignified and imposing, and _that_ had the effect of making sundry compressed lips smile right out loud, but it is uncertain whether even this would have lasted any time had not, suddenly, Richmond Wildair appeared with his wife leaning on his arm.

In an instant a profound hush of expectation reigned throughout the room; the music instantaneously stopped; the dancers one and all paused, and every eye was bent upon them. A low, respectful murmur of admiration ran round the room at her queen-like beauty, but it lasted only an instant, and all was again still.

"My friends," said the clear, powerful voice that a short time before had dispersed the surging crowd, "this lady, as you are all probably aware, is my wife. There is not one here who has not heard a thousand vague, floating rumors why we were separated, and now I feel it necessary to say a few words of explanation, and silence the tongue of scandal forever. A misunderstanding, slight and unimportant at first, such as will arise at times in all families, was the cause. No blame, not the faintest shadow of blame, attaches to this lady; if blame there be, it solely belongs to me. A mutual explanation and a perfect reconciliation have ensued, and if any one for the future shall canva.s.s the motives which caused us for a brief time to part, I will consider that person my willful enemy. Ladies and gentlemen, let this pleasant but unexpected incident not interfere with the amus.e.m.e.nts of the evening, and as example is better than precept, I shall join you. Come, Georgia."

He motioned to the musicians, and the dancers again formed, with Mr. and Mrs. Wildair at their head. And then, when the quadrille was ended, all came flocking round to be presented to his beautiful wife, whose Juno-like beauty and grace was the theme of every tongue. And for the remainder of the evening "all went merry as a marriage bell." If anything were wanting to add _eclat_ to the inauguration of the new governor this supplied it, and every one grew perfectly enthusiastic about the gifted young statesman and his beautiful wife. So romantic and mysterious as it all was, "just like something in a play or a novel," as Mr. Curtis said, that the excitement it created was perfectly unheard of, and when the ball broke up and the company dispersed, in the "wee sma' hours ayont the twal," they even forgot they were sleepy and tired, and talked away of the unexpected _denouement_, and electrified their friends when they got home with the wonderful news.

"And now, Georgia," said Richmond, "tell me what has changed you so. I can scarcely tell how it is, but it seems as if you were the Georgia I once knew etherealized--the spiritual essence of Georgia Darrell; as if you had cast off a slough and stepped forth radiant, serene, seraphic."

"Flatterer!" said Georgia, smiling, yet serious, too. "But oh, Richmond!

I fear you will be angry when I tell you."

"Angry at anything that has made you just what _I_ wanted, just what _I_ tried to make you and failed! Not I, Georgia. Tell me what elixir of happiness and inward joy have you found."

"One without price, and yet one free to all--to the king and to the beggar alike."

"And yet hitherto it has been beyond my reach. Tell me what it is, sweet wife, that I may drink and live, too."

"Oh, Richmond, if you would--if you _only_ would!" she said, catching her breath.

"Why should I not? Name it, Georgia."

"It is called _Faith_, Richmond."

He looked up reverentially, and his face was very grave.

"I think I know; and yet, hitherto it has been only a word to me. I have seen it personified in two--in your little friend Emily, and in--"

He paused and his face worked.

"In whom, Richmond?"

"In Charley. Oh, Charley! oh, my brother!" he cried, in pa.s.sionate tones as he began pacing rapidly up and down.

The irrepressible cry reminded Georgia of that other day long ago when he had received the letter in which he learned all. At the mention of that name, Georgia too rose, pale and trembling, from her seat.

"And have you seen him? Oh, Richmond! have you seen him?"

"Yes," he said, hoa.r.s.ely.

"And where is he? Richmond--oh, Richmond, do not look so! Charley, your brother--where is he, Richmond?"

"In heaven, Georgia."

She fell back in her seat, and covered her face with her hands.

"Dead! Oh, Charley! and I not there!" she cried, while her tears fell fast.